Heretical Fishing

Book 3: Chapter 60: Acidic

Within the dark confines of a wooden hovel, a lone man toiled.

Though Solomon had practiced his profession for tens of thousands of hours over his decades-long life, he had never undertaken a task so grand. It was the last concoction that the mortal known as Solomon would ever create. After he consumed it, he would become Solomon, the ascendant. Solomon, the Alchemist.

The coveted title of the prophesied alchemist... it was his to claim. All he had to do was grasp it.

He opened his eyes, peering out at the arrayed ingredients. It was all there, including the rare root he’d discovered and the last bit of bark from the blue tree. After a lifetime spent crafting while surrounded by the Cult of the Alchemist’s proprietary haze, it felt... weird to work without it. The smoke let them manipulate the world’s chi without being detected by the crown. Now that he was alone in the mountains, there was no need for such measures, especially because it could impact his awakening.

One might assume that the lack of a stinging throat and watering eyes would be a welcome reprieve, but to Solomon, it felt like something was missing.

Taking a deep breath, he gathered his resolve and swept his worries aside.

He had sculpted a cauldron from rock, slowly scraping away at the excess material over the span of a day. The water within it was now at a boil. It was time to begin. With but a moment’s pause, Solomon threw the basic ingredients in. The first hour of crafting sped by, Solomon’s body remembering exactly what to do. When it came time to add his self-named root, he gathered his will, just as the cult’s secret texts advised.

Even if he hadn’t been instructed on what to do, he’d have known what to do.

Each subsequent step felt right, for lack of a better word. As if both his body and the universe wanted the same thing. It was like scratching an itch one wasn’t aware of, and as he continued gathering his will and picturing what he wanted, a smile spread over his aged features. Without even looking at the root, he grabbed it in one hand and a sharpened rock in the other. His eyes were still locked on the roiling cauldron as he sliced down the length of the Solomon root.

There was a hidden core within, its flesh soft and springy compared to the encasing fibers. That middle section, only a fraction of the root’s width, called out to him. It was loaded with essence. Finally looking down, he collected the chi-filled center and threw it into the cauldron. The concoction within spat and hissed, urging him on.

The decaying bark of the blue tree was next, and when he sent his will toward it, he knew there was nothing to add. It was imperfect. In a state of decomposition. Yet it was all he had. Over the span of a few heartbeats, he imagined it falling into the cauldron and filling it with power. Without hesitation, he upended the pouch and shook.

The clumps of dust hit the surface, and the mixture reacted violently.

Foam bubbled up, threatening to spill over the side and take some of the dust with it. Knowing that the ingredient escaping could spell the end of this mixture, Solomon fought back. He pressed down on it with his will, the foam barely staying contained. It was like shoving down with invisible hands, and if not for his panic, he’d likely have enjoyed the sensation.

Thankfully, his efforts worked, and the bubbles slowly receded, revealing…

“What in Circe’s loving wand?”

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It had been mostly opaque earlier, lacking all color. He’d added a green root and the blackened, formerly blue bark. Somehow, this had turned the concoction blood-red. He swallowed, unable to miss the power flowing out of it. Even if it hadn’t transformed so notably, he’d have known: this potion, when properly condensed, would lead to his awakening.

He was distracted, so he closed his eyes, focusing his intent on the end result. Without realizing it, he slipped into a trance. When he opened his eyes once more, he took a heaving breath, only to cough and sputter immediately. His shack was filled with a thick haze. It burned everything it touched, his eyes, mouth, nose, and throat on fire. He made to run, to flee from the agony, but stopped before he could take a step.

This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? He’d missed the burn of his concealing smoke. Before the magnitude of his goal, this temporary discomfort was nothing. Even if he was to lose his vision, ascension would return it.

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Though he had to blink nonstop, he forced his eyes to remain open as he waved a hand above the cauldron, dispersing the smoke. Expecting to find it much the same, he was pleasantly surprised to see the concoction mostly reduced. He’d thought that only a few minutes had passed, but it had been hours. Despite the acrid haze burning everywhere it touched, relief flooded him.

It was almost complete.

He took deep breaths that scorched his lungs, yet did nothing to deter him. All the while, he continued picturing his ascension to godhood, clinging to that eventuality in order to push through the pain. After an agonizing stretch of time, something shifted in the air. Though his hovel was closed to the outside world, a breeze stirred. There was a moment of confusion, of not believing his senses. Then, all at once, the smoke flowed back into the cauldron in wispy streams, returning to the red concoction.

Before Solomon’s very eyes, it started to glow. The red light seeped through the cauldron, even solid stone unable to contain its brilliance.

He dropped to his knees on the earthen floor, gazing up at the incandescent light. Now that the smoke was absent, the air tasted sweet. Before he knew it, he was cackling, his voice harsh and scratched from exposure to the concoction. Wheezing for breath, he got back to his feet, leaning on his bench for support.

The light was retreating, returning to the mixture which now had a shimmering quality. He dipped a finger in it, testing its heat. Somehow, the haze flowing into it had cooled the potion. His hands shook as he grabbed the lip of the cauldron and brought it to his mouth.

It was more magnificent than he could have imagined.

Rather than taste it on his tongue, his entire awareness seemed to drink in its essence, flooding him with warmth. He took massive gulps, not stopping until he’d consumed every last drop. He licked his lips and set down the cauldron, raising his arms toward the roof and the sky beyond, imagining a great pillar of light descending from the heavens to—

A sharp pain tore through him, like a knife was plunged into his stomach. Groaning, he doubled over, clutching his abdomen. Just when the sensation faded, the knife twisted and tore. A choked sound came from his throat as he collapsed. As fast as it came, the searing agony disappeared, only to return a moment later. Though the warmth remained, it disappeared each time the knife came back.

Pulled back and forth between pain and bliss, an acidic aftertaste covered his tongue. It was… wrong.

The potion had failed.

With that knowledge afflicting him, the pain came stronger than ever before. He blacked out, his consciousness doing all it could to protect him from the suffering.

***

The following morning, I woke to a pleasant fluttering in my stomach. Still half asleep, I searched my muddied thoughts for the cause of my excitement. It took me a moment, but as I stared at the line of sunlight streaming in the front of my tent, I remembered.

“Fishing day!” I yelled, sitting bolt upright. “Wake up!”

There was no response, so I looked around, pouting. Neither Maria nor Borks, who’d both cuddled me to sleep, were anywhere to be seen.

A beautiful face poked into the tent and raised an eyebrow, making my pout turn into a grin.

“We’re already awake, you goose,” Maria said, giving me an amused look. “We’re just about to start making breakfast.”

“Be out in a moment.”

I stretched, enjoying the movement of sleep-sore muscles before pushing the tent-flap aside and stumbling into the light. We’d set up our campsite on the western side of the lake on Maria’s instructions, meaning the morning sun could beam down on us. I mentally thanked Maria for her foresight as I stood beneath its warming rays, closing my eyes and facing it with my, uh… face.

“Good sleep in?” Deklan asked.

“Yeah, mate.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly, a sense of calm flowing through me.

When I opened my eyes once more, I strode over to everyone else. They were surrounding a small fire, and I beamed at the nods, grins, and waves that came my way. “What can I do to help?” I asked, bending to pat Borks on the head. He licked me and wagged his tail in response.

“You can just sit there and look handsome,” Maria said, shooting me a wink. “I’ve got this covered.”

She was just arranging a bunch of unbaked croissants onto a tray, so I walked over and planted a peck on the top of her head, earning a cute little shimmy of her shoulders in return. I ambled over to Teddy and sat down beside him, covering a yawn. “How’d you sleep, big fella?”

He nodded and let out a rumbling growl that meant good. Despite the fact that his mere act of communicating sounded like tectonic plates shifting, he averted his eyes. I wanted to tell him he didn’t have to be so deferential. I wanted to tell him that he was welcome as he was. Instead, I reached up and patted one of his giant shoulders. “I’m glad, buddy,” I said.

We spoke about small things as Maria prepared breakfast, the blessed smells of coffee and cooking pastries slowly building and becoming irresistible. Just as the coffee pot was starting to hiss, a bubble of chi exploded far to the east. I jolted, my head darting in its direction. It was… acidic?

“What’s wrong?” Deklan asked.

“Huh?” Maria spun, facing me. “What happened?”

I stood. “You don’t feel that?”

“No?” She got to her feet, her face serious. “Feel what? You’re worrying me.”

“Someone or something just awakened to the east. Right outside of Tropica. It feels… wrong.”

“Go,” she said, already moving. “We’ll follow.”

I nodded. “With me, Borks.”

He transformed into his chihuahua form. I scooped him up in my arms, dashed to the end of the lake, and leaped. Trees sailed past below me as I took us toward the anomaly, a foreboding worry sprouting from deep within me.